A Stolen Moment
by stillgoldie1899
Summary: A moment stolen, safe from prying eyes, and society's judgement. (One-shot, David/Skittery)


The alley was dark, and mostly secluded, and that was really the best they could hope for. Dank city streets, the slight chill of autumn air, and fear, crawling up along his spine. It was appropriate, the grimness of the alley, in some way. Because this was... deviant. This was "unnatural", if he was inclined to listen to the voice of public opinion. This would have made his mother hide her face in shame, if she was still alive to see it. And knowing that made him want to turn and run.

But this was about him. This was about dreams he couldn't stop dreaming, even when he was awake. This was about daydreams that startled him with their intensity. This was about need so deep that nothing could ease it. It went on and on and on, demanding, pleading for release in something he was ashamed to admit he wanted.

Yes, there was shame. How could he deny that he was ashamed of this? Of wanting this? Of knowing, of giving in? He knew what the others would think of him, what they would say about him, if they knew. No one would want to bunk with him, to sit with him, to sell with him. He'd be a pariah. And this was his family, these boys. This was all the family he had left, how could he risk doing something that would lose him the only family he had?

But he needed it. It was burning him alive. And he knew, without words, without discussion, without any other indication, he knew that David wanted it, too. Those glances, stolen in crowds, lingering like a caress. He'd seen David's eyes on his lips, knew that was where his eyes were as well. And that was all he really needed to know. It was terrifying, and it was going to end in heartache and disaster, of course it was, but he was moving on autopilot. He couldn't stop himself.

And he wasn't the only one. He was only there for a moment when he heard David clear his throat behind him. They looked at each other for a moment, shuffling nervously, both aware that this was a moment of truth. Were they both wrong? Had they both been fooling themselves?

He was on the verge of panic, about to bolt, when David seemed to take the initiative. One moment he was breathing, and then, he wasn't. David's lips were on his, crushing against his, awkwardly, nervously, and his nose knocked into David's. They broke apart, each covering his nose, and David was roughly the color of a fire engine.

He tried to keep from laughing, he did, his voice soft, not wanting to draw attention to himself. How typical was this? This was as disastrous as he'd feared, as horrible as the one time he'd tried to kiss a girl, and she slapped him. But this was David, and he looked so sheepish, so frightened, so... vulnerable. It was... god, it was hot.

His hand dropped, and moving on autopilot again, he let his fingers curl around the front of David's shirt, pulling him closer, and this time, he let his lips brush, teasingly light, against David's, slow and sweet and lingering, until he felt David start kissing him back.

They lingered there for a moment, just enjoying the feel of the other boy's lips on theirs, slowly deepening the kiss, slowly pulling closer, slowly losing themselves in the feel of it, the fire of it, the need of it. He was the first to slide his tongue lightly along David's lips, nudging them apart, wanting to feel the other boy's tongue on his own. And when he did, a soft whimper escaped David's throat, and that sound, that light wobbling sound, drove him absolutely wild. His fingers let go of David's shirt, hooking instead in his belt, pulling his hips closer, his own pressing against David's, feeling his growing hardness brushing against David's, knowing, comfortably, assuredly knowing, that David was getting just as hard as he was, that he wanted this just as much as he did.

It was as though they were alone in the world there, nothing else mattered. The moment he let go of David's belt, his fingers moved up along the other boy's sides, grazing upwards, his touch light and teasing, fingertips desperate to memorize the feel of the other boy. Taut muscle, quaking at the light touch, and a ridge of ribs above, and he relished every second of it, the way David's breath hitched, the quiet sound of his moaning, the way the his hips rolled, on instinct, almost grinding. And as his fingers made their way back down again, to the bony jut of David's hips, through warn fabric down to the sides of his thighs, he was finally, finally forced to pull his lips, reluctantly, from David's, gasping in a shuddering breath, aware he was flushed, fighting a desperate need to simply push the brown-haired boy against the closest wall, and ravage him.

David met his eyes, and he was startled to see the other boy looked as desperate as he was, eyes hazy with need, with lust. And while his lips already felt a bit bruised, he very quickly pulled closer again, pressing his lips to David's swollen ones, sucking gently on his lower lip, teeth grazing along it. His hands, still wandering, found their way to David's backside, and firmly gripped there, pulled him closer, his hips shifting to brush his hardness against David's, nearly growling at the resulting shudder, that rippled it's way up his spine. He needed this, this touch, and more, he needed David's skin on his, slick with sweat, sliding along his, the other boy pinned beneath him, writhing with lust, helplessly moaning. He needed it so badly he could taste it, he needed it badly he could feel it.

But as they broke apart again, he knew they couldn't, not then, not there. Not that night, or the next. Neither of them could afford the privacy he wanted, and it was clear they both knew it. David's dark eyes sought his, and his expression serious. They'd spent about as much time as they could, in that alley. Neither of them could spend much more.

David reached, caught his hand, and squeezed it, and still silent, with a shake of his head, vanished again into the street, and away from view. He was left with the sensation of David's lips on his, the memory of his hips rolling, the way the lanky boy had felt under his fingers. It nearly overwhelmed him, and to distract himself, he slammed his fist into the nearby brick wall, yelping at the abrupt pain that tore up his arm. But a nearly broken hand was easier to handle then the regret, and the longing he was left with, as he headed back to the lodging house.

Once again, he knew what his dreams would be, this time, one slight step closer to reality. If he was very lucky, he wouldn't make too much of a mess of himself in his sleep, but knowing the way his life went, he would be enduring more than his share of teasing jibes in the morning, but he didn't care. Those stolen moments in the alley were worth it.


End file.
